Iron Gates
by UnderPolyJuice
Summary: Santana was just a little girl, scared of the monsters under her bed, Brittany was the one who drove them away.
1. Chapter 1: Unwelcome Serenity

She walked through the frame, shutting the spotless glass door behind her. The wind swept through her hair, tussling the long black strands. They sent a chill down her spine as they touched her bare back. Her bronze skin glistened in the June sun.

She skipped lightly onto the stepping stones. Her painted toes touched down on the hot, gray stone. She'd never fancied herself graceful but Brittany had set her straight saying she floated like a butterfly.

She missed her Brit-Brit and how superficially stupid she seemed on the outside. Santana knew though. She saw the child-like spark behind Brittany's blue eyes. Her innocence only went so far and where it ended the smart, adult-like part of her started. No one ever saw that part but Santana.

She thought of Brittany's last words to her as she pulled on the string connected to her pink float. They were a solemn "I love you. Don't let the lake bunnies get to you." She had almost asked Brit what lake bunnies were, but had decided against it, knowing listening to Brittany ramble on would just make her cry. So she had left for the summer, with out saying "I love you" even though she had desperately wanted to.

She sighed with nostalgia as she put her left foot onto the float and climbed cat-like onto it. She pushed off from the out dated wood dock. The float sailed as far as its rope would let it. Santana laid there for a while, absorbing the sun. She hoped to be as dark Maria, her father's maid.

She scoffed at her subconscious mention of her father. He was tall and had once been handsome. Years of work had caused him stress lines on his dark face, and the liquor he'd used to get away from it had given his stomach a bulge. He had let himself go when he'd separated from her mother.

That was the real reason she'd scoffed. Mr. Lopez had packed up in the middle of the night when she was ten. There was no fight, or big dramatic exit. Nor was there a good-bye. He had just left, suit case in hand. He'd come to Maine, built a new life with new, younger women, and bought a beautiful lake house. But there was always an underlying sadness on both her parent's face making her wonder what exactly had forced the wedge between them.

Was it money? No, he was a doctor, money had never been an issue. Was there another woman? No, he had always seemed completely devoted as a husband. Or was it her? That had been Santana's worst fear. Sure had never been the perfect child. She had always been a handful. They'd always disagreed on how to punish her. For years, Santana had been resigned to the theory that it had been her that had caused her parents' divorce.

Santana's eyes were closed. She was relying on her other senses to give her a view of the world around her. This float had been her sanctuary for the last month. She had spent hours at a time on it. Every once in a while she just sleep there, allowing time to pass by in mere minutes. The best part was when she'd wake up to find she'd been there for hours.

Time seemed to pass by so slow at her father's house. She hated it. Santana never wanted to stop. She found her favorite times were the ones that passed by like lightning. When time went by as slow as it did, it gave her time to think.

She hated being left alone to her thoughts. They were too scary, too real for her to face. She hated feeling like she was just a scared little girl, still afraid of the monsters under the bed.

Santana let her hand drop into the warm water. Her fingertips created little ripples as she floated. Life there was just too peaceful, too perfect. She smiled at herself. She knew she complained too much.

"Señorita Lopez!" she heard Maria call, her thick accent lacing her words heavily. She groaned and didn't answer, pretending not to hear, or to be asleep, or dead. Whatever convinced Maria worked for her.

She called me three times, each time her voice betting closer. Finally she stood on the dock. Santana came to the realization she could no longer ignore her. She sat up groggily. "What is it, Maria?" She asked, opening my eyes to the harsh light of the real world.

"Your father wants you to start getting ready for the dinner, tonight," she yelled even though she was only about ten yards away.

She frowned at the thought of the dinner. Every year her father held a grand dinner party "in her honor," or so he said. Really it was just to show me off. He also invited many young women he hoped to shack up with that night.

"Pull me in, will you?" Santana called, _so I can get ready for a night of having to act nice around stuck up rich people_, she finished in my head. She sighed and lay back down, enjoying her last few seconds of not having to listen to her father.


	2. Chapter 2: Underbelly of the Ball

Santana stood in front of the mirror. Her red dress was flowing down to the floor. It looked a lot like her prom dress, minus the flowered sleeve. She slipped on matching red gloves that went up to her elbows.

Everyone was waiting for her downstairs. They probably didn't even know her name. The few who did wouldn't bother to talk to her. But, at the same time, they were all supposedly there for her.

She sat down in front of the vanity room and sighed. She looked at her room in the reflection. Her room was huge with every comfort imaginable. It wasn't home though. None of it was.

She placed her head in her palms, struck with a numbing sadness. She was homesick. She always became homesick when was at her father's. Though this year, it was different.

In the years past, she had few things to go back to. School, The Cheerios, Glee Club, yes. This year there was more. There was Brittany. Brit and her blond hair, her innocence, her perfection.

This year would be amazing, she'd come out, date Brittany, and everything would be well. It was that thought that would get her through the hours to come.

Santana stood up, turned the doorknob, and somehow found the courage to walk down the hall to the spiral staircase. She took the rail, feeling faint, or maybe just annoyed. Not even she could tell.

Every single pair of eyes seemed to turn on her. The men stared at her hungrily. She couldn't help but think of savage wolves preparing to feast. On second thought, though, it was the woman who looked like wolves. Jealous, protective, angry wolves, ready to attack with even the smallest provoking.

She sighed and continued her decent down the stairs. Her father was at the foot of them, waiting for her. She unwillingly took his arm and he led her to a group of lustful wolves.

They smiled their malicious smiles, their foreheads creasing and their combed hairlines receding. They were all dressed in handsome suits and most of them had gorgeous Rolex watches around their wrists.

Santana's smile was convincing, but very, very fake. It hid all the emotions of disgust that she was feeling. For a second or two they just stared at her, their eyes taking in everything. She hated it.

Her father coughed, returning all their attention to him. "Your daughter gets more and more beautiful every year, Dr. Lopez," one said.

"Thank you," her father returned pleasantly, "It can't be much of a surprise, her mother was very handsome." Santana refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just. "Handsome" is not a word she would use to describe her mother.

"She has beautiful eyes," another said. His sandy hair was laced with gray. It was slicked back with what must have been a tub of lard. Santana was quick to notice this, but she didn't say anything, even though she desperately wanted to.

"That's enough admiring, gents," her father said, "She's only seventeen." He let out a hearty laugh. They joined in, some throwing their heads back lightly. Santana chuckled along convincingly enough.

She took the moment of silence following the laugh to excuse herself. "I think I see a glass of wine with my name on it," she said, waving her hand towards the bar.

"Oh, Ms. Lopez, allow me," said most of them in unison. They made a step forward, as if biding in an auction. She waved them off, vaguely stating that she could manage herself. After a second of persuasion, they submitted to the idea of her leaving, though they were unwilling. She turned and sighed, she was free of their hungry eyes, at least for a little while.

She made her way to the bar. A poor, disheveled, underpaid man stood behind it. He held three full glasses of red wine in his left hand and a bottle in his right. Santana couldn't help but snicker at his balancing act. He reminded her of a juggler at the circus she'd been to when she was younger.

"What'll it be ma'am," he asked as she sad down on a cool, granite barstool. She looked at his wrinkled face and black, beady eyes.

"Surprise me," she said dully. He nodded and turned, facing his bottles. Santana traced her finger along the clear glass counter as she waited for her drink. Her finger left small prints of the otherwise spotless surface.

"Here you go, ma'am," he said, putting down a glass of a thin, orange liquid, "Screwdriver." It was in an oddly shaped glass with a few ice cubes floating on the surface.

She nodded her thanks and took a sip. It burnt her throat slightly but it was good. She downed all of it in another go and asked for a second one. "Not too much, Ms. Lopez," the barman said, his voice chuckling lightly.

Santana smiled. "I've got to get away from all these people somehow," he said, sipping on her drink.

"They're not that bad," he said, polishing his glass.

Santana snorted. "See that man over there?" she asked, nodding at a dark hair man in an expensive suit, "He's been cheating on his wife since a week after their wedding. He told me so when he tried to get in my pants last year. And that woman," she nodded at a woman with fake blonde hair dressed in a long red evening gown, "She's a closeted lesbian who's been with half the women in this place."

"If only you knew the half of it, Ms. Lopez," he snickered. Santana perked up, her curiosity heightened. He began to tell her all the information he knew. For the next three hours. Santana sat with the barman. It felt good to stay there, exchanging secrets with him.

She decided it was the best way to spend her last hours at her father's house.


End file.
